


Poe Party (Rewritten) - Heliot

by dracothelittlepuff



Series: draco's Heliot [1]
Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracothelittlepuff/pseuds/dracothelittlepuff
Summary: Poe Party from the perspectives of George Eliot and Ernest HemingwayHeliot with Wellenore and Edgar/Annabel(idk their ship name)
Relationships: Edgar Allan Poe/Annabel Lee, Ernest Hemingway/George Eliot, H.G. Wells/Lenore, HG Wells/Lenore, Heliot, Hemingway/Eliot, Wellenore
Series: draco's Heliot [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817368
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue: Before the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes/things you should know before reading (I know it's a lot):
> 
> \- You should go watch Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party before reading this, otherwise, you'll be like, "Why the actual f*ck are you calling H.G. Wells a cinnamon roll? And why does everyone keep forgetting Emily Dickinson?"
> 
> \- George Eliot was a pen name for a female author by the name of Mary Ann Evans. Hemingway calls her Mae because those are her real initials: M.A.E.
> 
> \- All the characters know that George Eliot is actually Mary Ann, she's just stubborn and they're like "whatever". What NO ONE knows is that Ernest and Mary Ann are seeing each other...
> 
> \- I also posted this on Wattpad, my username is the exact same as here
> 
> \- If you see mistakes, you can point them out, I won't be offended. I'm dealing with a Mary, an Anne, a Mary Ann, an Annabel and Edgar/Ernest/Eduardo/Edward/Eddie - there's probably gonna be something I missed
> 
> \- I know most of this is just writing down what happened in the series, I'm not trying to take credit for it. I just wanted to write with insight into Hemingway and Eliot's minds
> 
> If you read all of that and you're confused because you didn't watch it, it's on YouTube on a channel called Shipwrecked.
> 
> Okay, now to the actual story...

Mary Ann Evans smoothed the fake moustache down onto her face in the mirror, adjusted her borrowed hat, and turned back to Ernest Hemingway who was sprawled out on the bed behind her. "Does it look okay?"

He sat up, barely glancing at her before taking a swig from his flask. "Of course."

Mary Ann - now George Eliot - drooped a little. "Ernest."

He looked back at her, his gaze intense. "This might sound blunt, but Mae, I don't know why you even bother with this." He stood up and took a step towards her. "Everyone knows you're a woman."

Mary Ann looked away. "But..." Her voice was weak and Ernest felt his heart crack a little but he forced himself to keep talking.

"Sure, half of the women there've probably used pen names. But this? I mean..." he smirked and looked her up and down. "You still look hot. As always." Mary Ann blushed. "And I don't mind either way. But you're allowed to wear a dress. You're allowed to be a woman. I just... are you happy like this?"

Mary Ann looked down at her hands fidgeting and then back up to him. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm happy without this, either. But it's a writers' thing, right?" Ernest nodded. "And this is me as a writer." She broke into a small doubtful smile. "Besides... are you sure they all know?"

Ernest looked at her for a long moment and then laughed. He slid his hands onto her waist and stepped closer. "Of course, Mae." He leaned down and kissed her quickly, pulling back but keeping his face close to hers. "It's kinda obvious. But kinda adorable."

She rolled her eyes but smiled wider. "Asshole."

Ernest arched an eyebrow. "Crude language. Maybe you should be a little more ladylike," he teased. Ernest kissed her again and Mary Ann giggled and shoved him away playfully. "Shut up!"

Mary Ann caught his hand coming up to cup her face and pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. "Crap. We're gonna be late."

"Shit." Ernest took another sip from his flask and tucked it into his coat. "Let's go."

On their way to the main road, Ernest slipped his hand into Mary Ann's. "I know you don't love being around people," Mary Ann began, "but this might be different."

Ernest scoffed and then glanced down at her face and softened. "I'll try."

"That's all you can do." Mary Ann squeezed his hand and after a long moment, Ernest squeezed back.

"It's all anyone can do, dear."


	2. The Bells

Ernest walked down the path to the mansion while Mary Ann continued on. She'd do a circuit around the block before coming in, it was better to arrive separately so as not to arouse suspicion.

Ernest was trying to light a cigar when the hosts answered the door.

"Welcome, friend, to Edgar Allan Poe's murder mystery, invite-only casual dinner party/gala for friends potluck," Edgar Allan Poe said. "Lenore will take your dish and your coat."

Ernest tossed his coat at Lenore, who let it fall through her to the floor. She looked at him and rolled her eyes.

"Looks like you've got yourself a ghost infestation, friend. Lookee here." He flicked open a blade. "I brought a switchblade so we can skewer wild boar in the backyard. Then we can roast it," he waved the knife around casually, "over an open flame. Only an open flame."

Lenore looked disgusted but he just rolled his eyes and pushed past them. He'd been in the house before and knew his way to the dining room. His eyes surveyed the labels and came to a stop on his. On one side of him was George Eliot and on the other was Charlotte Brontë. Not bad, but he was especially pleased to see George - Mary Ann - next to him.

Ernest mostly ignored the others as they trickled in.

~~

Mary Ann leaned against the door frame when they opened the door.

"Ah..." Edgar Allan Poe looked at her for a moment. "Mary Ann! So-"

"The name's Eliot. George Eliot. Likes: beer, sporting, talking about sporting. Dislikes: peeing sitting down, tending to the home, not talking about sporting."

"Mary Ann, I'm not sure I underst-"

Ernest was right. Goddammit.

"Seems you have me confused with some sort of damsel," Mary Ann interrupted. "I understand, I have very soft skin. But the name's George Eliot. It's two male names. It's easy to remember."

They stood there for an awkward moment and then Mary Ann spoke again. "Now. Show me to the billiard room. Or a voting booth!"

Once all - or at least, most - of the guests were sitting down, Edgar Allan Poe stood up at his end of the table. "Friends, thank you for being here. We are still waiting on a few guests who are definitely my friends. Agatha Christie said she would be running late. Also my dear, dear friend Annabel Lee, and her plus one. Also, Emily Dickinson."

Ernest nudged Mary Ann with his elbow and she coughed quietly to hide a laugh and shifted in her chair. Everyone knew how much the host liked Annabel Lee - much more than just friends, as he claimed.

"Now, tonight will be quite exciting. You were all given a character card with a name and a brief biography. Please study it, for it is to be your identity for the duration of the evening."

"Mine's blank," Emily said.

"Ah, yes." There was an awkward silence. "You have picked the rare blank character card. Good on you!"

"Uh, my card says I'm a duchess," Mary Ann began. Ernest rolled his eyes at her but she ignored him pointedly. "Seeing as how I have absolutely no insight into the mind of a woman, I was wondering if anyone would be willing to trade cards for a male character."

Oscar Wilde squinted at her suspiciously. "Please, no trading," Edgar said quickly. "Now, Lenore will bring out the soup. Lenore!"

Lenore gave him a sarcastically happy look and snapped her fingers, causing bowls of soup to appear on everyone's plates.

Mary Ann gasped in surprise and Ernest looked around in shock and many of the others did the same.

"Next, we will figure out who goes first," Edgar said, looking proud of himself.

"Edgar, I love my character, but I did make a few tweaks," Charlotte Brontë said."Can I run these by you tomorrow?"

"No, y-" The host gave up. "... Yes, sure." He forced a smile at her. "Now, we figure out who goes first based on..." he pulled a small game pamphlet out of his suit jacket and read it quickly. "Whose birthday is most recent?"

Louisa May Alcott gasped. "Mine's in three weeks! The party is tree-themed, so everyone come dressed as your favourite tree. Mine's the Tilia Americana." Ernest took a sip from his flask, already getting tired of this. Mary Ann caught his wrist discreetly under the table and shook her head slightly, causing him to sigh and tuck away the flask into his suit jacket.

"Let's go shot for shot to see who goes first!" Fyodor said happily to Louisa May.

"Who here is Detective Inspector Ignatius Crumblefeather? He needs to be sitting north," Edgar said. "Wait, facing north, or sitting-"

"Oh, that is me," Fyodor said. "I spent time in jail with a very kind Ignatius once. We still write letters back and forth." He looked much sadder and Louisa May put a comforting hand on his back. "To Ignatius," he said and took a shot.

"When will someone be murdered, hm?" Oscar Wilde cut in.

"I know who did it," H.G. said proudly but quietly. Mary Ann gave an exasperated look to Ernest and he looked on, amused. No one had even been murdered yet.

"Does anyone want to trade?" Louisa May said.

"Yeah, what do you got?" Ernest asked.

"Greek diplomat Winnifred Kostolopolos. It says I only speak Greek. I-I don't speak Greek!" Edgar glared at both of them.

"Well, I speak three kinds of Greek. Now you're a prominent abolitionist Flanders Winterbottom. Cheers." He tossed the card across the table and raised his flask again.

"Please, no trading! They are all very good cards," Edgar said loudly.

"Sorry we're late." Everyone turned to see Annabel Lee and her plus one standing in the doorway of the dining room. "Hi everyone! I'm Annabel. This is Eddie. He's a banker."

"Hi, Eddie Dantes. Sorry, we're delayed. My volunteer shift at the old folk's home ran late and then on the way over we ran across a barbershop quartet and their bass was out with a sore throat so I had to fill in."

Ernest raised his eyebrows and if looks could kill, Edgar would be the murderer. Oscar just laughed and Lenore looked disgusted.

"You understand," Eddie said. Annabel giggled. "He has perfect pitch!"

"And yet it's imperfection that makes people truly interesting," Edgar said sharply. "Please, come this way."

"Very well, after you, my dear," Eddie said to Annabel. As he passed Lenore, she raised two fingers in the shape of an 'L' on her forehead.

Edgar sat Annabel Lee down next to himself. She said hello to HG and he nervously nodded back. Edgar pushed Eddie almost all the way around the table again to sit between Fyodor Dostoevsky and Oscar Wilde.

"What is everyone's deal? I thought I was the dead one here," Lenore said.

"Parties aren't the place for jokes, Lenore," Edgar said. "Now, time for everyone's favourite part, the rules." Ernest's foot found Mary Ann's under the table and he slowly drew it up her leg. Halfway up to her knee, she flinched away and he smiled to himself. "Once everyone is done with their soup, the lights will go out and someone will die. Our first victim is," Edgar cleared his throat. "Belladonna Spillingsworth, daughter of railroad magnate Barnabus Spillingsworth."

"That's me!" Lenore said excitedly. "She died on the very same railroad named after her by her father. The victim of a terr-"

"Look here, before this night goes on, I have something to say," Mary Shelley said loudly, standing up. The lights went out, plunging everyone into pitch black.

"Who touched my leg?" Fyodor asked.

"Oh, that was your leg. Oh," Oscar said.

When the lights came back on, Mary Ann was slouched down in her chair into her coat and hat and Ernest seemed ready to fight anyone.

Eddie Dantes lay face down in the soup. Oscar and Fyodor flinched away when they realized the man between them seemed lifeless.

"Oh!" Lenore gasped. "Right in the soup!"


	3. The Masque of the Red Death

Annabel jumped up and ran to the man's side. "Eddie?"

"Could someone please get his face out of my soup, I worked really hard on it-" Lenore said.

"This is fun," Oscar said. "No, no this- this isn't-" Edgar said, concerned.

"Oh, were we supposed to do that as well?" H.G. put his face in the soup. "H, for god sakes, have some dignity," Edgar muttered.

"No, sweetie, I think we're supposed to wait our turns to put our faces in the soup," Charlotte Brontë said to him.

"No. The soup is just for eating," Lenore said, fed up.

"Soup is not for eating," Ernest cut in. "Soup is for drinking and throwing on the ground as you demand real food." Mary Ann looked at him and then back at her bowl.

"Have you heard of okroshka?" Fyodor asked quietly. "It is cold soup. Cold soup - who would ever want such a thing?"

"Oh, I get it, so now we gotta figure out what kinda soup it is!" Mary Ann said.

"No!" Louisa May coughed. "This is meant to be the first murder we solve." She coughed more and then cleared her throat. "As prominent abolitionist Flanders Winterbottom, I declare that we abolish slavery henceforth!" She slammed her card on the table. "How does this work again?"

"I don't think he's breathing," Annabel said anxiously.

"What, really? No, I mean, this isn't part of the game!" Edgar said.

"The game of life and the game of death have one thing in common. They do not care what you want," Mary Shelley said solemnly.

"Beautiful," Oscar said. Mary smiled at him before sitting back down.

"So did you, uh, check out the latest sports?" Mary Ann asked Edgar. He sighed in frustration. He was fine with her pretending to be a man, he just wanted to know that she was comfortable and happy with how she presented herself. He might as well play along. "Naturally," he said. "Say, what sort of skin balm do you use? You have absolutely no shaving bumps."

She looked at her plate and he reached out and stroked her cheek almost flirtatiously with one soft hand. "Thank you, thank you," she said softly, pushing his hand away. Ernest smirked inwardly.

"Eddie? Eddie!" Annabel said desperately.

"Oh, she really is committed," Charlotte said.

"Fine, then the murder mystery is underway," Ernest said. "The first thing we need to do is determine a motive. Who benefitted most from killing-" he reached for the man's card. "Virgil, the foul-smelling orangutan."

Oscar laughed. "Orangutan."

"Edgar, really? Come on," Ernest looked to the host who looked like he was trying to hide a smile. "Virgil? That's a terrible name."

"This is an actual murder."

"No need to sell it any further, friend. We're all playing along now! Firstly, I suspect the soup," Ernest said with a look to Lenore.

She stared back at him. "How dare you?"

"He did taste it. Oh, how fun! That's a clue!" Mary Ann said as Hemingway stood up to walk around the table.

"The- the soup?" HG said nervously, having had his own face in the soup just minutes before.

"The soup is a red herring!" Lenore said. "You would say that," Oscar said to her doubtfully.

"No, like an actual red herring soup with a red pepper garlic sauce," Lenore explained, but she was cut off by another one of Louisa May's coughing fits. Mary Shelley, who was sitting next to her, poured her a glass of water, shaking her head. "Here."

"Please, a grave and sinister act has been committed here this evening," Edgar said, obviously struggling to keep things under control.

"Yeah," Lenore said. "Louisa May's dress." Louisa May choked a little on her water and Oscar gave Lenore a high five.

"I only intended to have a night of revelry!" Edgar said, sounding more upset by the minute.

"Aha! It was you!" Louisa May said. "You stood to gain the most money from Virgil's death."

"This isn't the game! And even if it was you haven't even heard my character yet. I am a western lawman turned bounty hunter Ezekiel Farmer; I have no monetary stake in the death of an orangutan. Also, he's an orangutan, he has no money, use your head."

"Edgar, I can't feel a pulse," Annabel said, panicking.

"All this talking is balderdash and hooey," Charlotte said, standing up. "Someone or rather at school was always falling ill so I taught myself CPR - got top marks, too. Let's see if this old chap had a pulse, shall we?" She walked around the table and Annabel and Hemingway stood back. She felt his neck.

"A murder mystery game that turns into a real murder! Edgar, you've outdone yourself!" Oscar laughed.

"Wait! This wisp of a woman is right! He's not breathing," Charlotte said.

"Oh no no, I don't- I um, I don't do well with- with real death," stuttered HG.

"I swear by the completely natural moustache on my face, this is quite the turn of events," Mary Ann said. Hemingway gave her a look and she met his gaze, unwaveringly stubborn.

"What is this?" Fyodor asked, turning to Edgar. "What have you done, Poe?" Hemingway asked in a hushed voice. "Edgar?" Annabel said softly.

"No, no no no, this was, uhh, supposed to be a- uh... Lenore?"

"A good time?" She asked with eyes narrowed. Edgar snapped his fingers. "A good time!"

"What have you gotten us all into?" Charlotte asked, her voice dangerous.

"No use crying over spilled milk," Mary Ann stood up. "We have to scour the room and find a clue as to who could have murdered Eddie and Emily Dickinson."

"I'm right he-"

"Just... leave my soup out of it," Lenore said.

"Huh-oh, look here you phantasm, you're a prime suspect," Hemingway said. She glared at him. "You'd have us think you can't hold or touch things like sportscoats, and yet, you sit here before us, glued to that martini glass."

Lenore looked at the glass in question in her hand. "Okay, I'm sorry, but I have to concentrate, like, really hard in order to hold anything. I can't even teleport until I'm, like, 100 ghost years old. It's Ghost 101. This sort of thing is all I go corporeal for." She swished the liquid around in the glass a bit.

Mary Ann leaned towards her suddenly. "Haunt these halls no more." She slowly drew away and Lenore gave her an exasperated look.

"Well! This night has taken a dastardly turn," Louisa May said. "I mean to fetch an inspector."

"If a crime has indeed been committed by someone, I would prefer if no one leaves the scene," Charlotte said. Oscar and Ernest nodded a bit. "Especially you, Raskolnikov," she added to Fyodor. "That's right, don't think I didn't notice when you said you're an escaped convict!"

"And you seemed to recognize Eddie when he first arrived," Mary Shelley added. "I am no escaped convict!" Fyodor protested, looking around. "I was released! As for Mr. Dantes... yes. I knew him." Edgar's glare was intense on him. "I had no quarrel with the man! He took me in and gave me shelter after Siberian prison camp. What tragedy has befallen us all?"

"Such a hard story, but told so beautifully," Oscar said.

"Well, that's enough for me! Tie him up and then we'll all go get help!" Louisa May said.

"No. Charlotte is right," Poe said firmly. "We have no proof that Fyodor had anything to do with this. The murderer may leave and we would never be the wiser. Also, my house hasn't passed an inspection in years and I... do not need that kind of heat right now."

"Psh, huh. Hah!" Ernest scoffed.

"Ernest, you have something to say?" Edgar asked.

"When I have something to say, I say it. When I don't, I stop typing." He looked around and raised his eyebrows at Mary Ann, sending her a wink. She seemed to retreat into her coat and looked at her soup.

"Have you all gone mad? Are you all in on this?" Louisa May asked. She coughed. "I'm getting out of here!" She walked quickly to the hallway, coughing more.

"She stopped," Oscar said happily when there was a pause. "She's better now."

They heard more coughs and his face fell, and then a thud. Everyone got up and hurried to the hall to see Louisa May lying face down on the floor.


	4. The Purloined Letter

Mary quickly leaned down to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing. She straightened up. "Louisa May Alcott, a spinster through and through, has now reached the pinnacle of transcendentalism. May she be at one with the earth, and may she find her peace."

"Well someone had that ready to go," Oscar said.

"I'm just really good at eulogies," Mary said annoyedly.

"Edgar, I'm frightened. We must alert the police!" Annabel said, turning to the host. "Yes, I agree," he nodded.

"Good thing stripes are in because you are going to jail, son!" Lenore said.

"I'm not going to jail. None of us are going to jail!" Edgar said. He looked back down at Louisa May's lifeless body. "Okay, one of you is probably going to jail."

"Wait a second," Edgar flicked open his knife. "What's that?" He bent down and picked up a red handkerchief. Mary took it. "Hm, moist."

"Well, great. You solved it," Oscar said sarcastically with a look to Ernest.

She ignored him and showed an embroidered shape on the corner of the cloth to everyone. "Look."

"Is that a-" Ernest began. "A bell," Fyodor said.

"Or... A bell. Annabel!" Charlotte said, stepping back and pointing to the woman. Everyone stepped away from her quickly. "What? That's not mine!" Annabel said quickly.

"I'd probably say that if it were mine, too," Oscar said.

"I think that we can all agree that the most innocent person is the beautiful and innocent Annabel Lee, and also she's the most beautiful, now can we start taking this seriously?" Edgar said.

"I don't know," Mary Ann walked towards the woman in question. "Seems like that whole 'innocent' thing might be an act!" She added in a whisper, "Love that dress." Hemingway felt his heart twinge, regretting not trying to convince her more that it would be fine to present in a more feminine way at the party.

"How could you?" Annabel said. "Thank you. I came here with a gentleman I care about very much who is now dead and you accuse me? When would Ms. Alcott taken my hanky?"

"Okay, then," Ernest said from where he was leaning on the doorframe. "Procure your handkerchief posthaste."

"I-I don't have one on me," she said softly.

"Aha! Open and shut case," Ernest smirked.

"Mm, guys, Annabel would never accessorize in that colour with her complexion," Lenore said.

"Thank you," Annabel said.

"It's true," Mary Ann added. Everyone looked at her and she stepped back. "I think... I don't know..."

"Well, who was feeding her drinks? She was having horrible coughing fits," Oscar said.

"Eh, we celebrate with beverage, but we drink same vodka!" Fyodor said.

"Let's get her into the dining room and we'll figure this out," Edgar said.

"Ugh, with the soup?" Lenore sighed.

"Poe, I concur with the spirit, that is super gross," Ernest agreed.

"We'll have to find some other place to move the bodies," Charlotte said.

"I-I may be going out on a limb here, but, uh, perhaps you have a vault space in your cellar that you would be amenable to storing dead bodies in?" HG asked timidly.

"Naturally," Poe said. "Aha!" Ernest said loudly. "Come on, everybody does," the host said.

"Mine's in my attic," Mary said. Ernest took half a step back from her as she looked at him pointedly.

"Uh, we- we can keep Miss Alcott and Mr. Dantes down there until help arrives," suggested HG.

"Great. Let's fetch him," Edgar said, walking past the group back into the dining room.

They paused as they reentered the room: a piece of curled paper was pinned to the fruit arrangement in the center with a kitchen knife. "That wasn't here before, right?" Oscar asked.

"There's a note," Charlotte pointed out. "What does it say?" Annabel asked. Ernest grabbed the knife and took the apple stuck on off of it, letting Edgar take the paper. Ernest took a large bite of the apple as Edgar read it out loud.

"Good evening, authors. What a lovely party this has been. I hope you left room for the next course when you all get your just desserts." Ernest scoffed and Fyodor chuckled.

"Tell no one, seek no help, do not under any circumstances leave this abode, or the only thing you will be authoring henceforth is your own death."

"Well, we know who did it," Ernest said. "HG Wells," he tossed the apple to the man who caught it, "you stand accused. This notice of intent is as hacky as anything you've ever spewed forth."

"Perhaps notifying the local constables is not in our best interests," Edgar said.

"What? You actually believe that?" Mary asked. "If we left right now, you think we would all be struck down dead?"

"We are dealing with a madman," Annabel said.

"Or woman!" Mary Ann pushed forwards and then realized everyone's eyes were on her yet again. "Just saying."

Ernest looked at her, his eyes soft, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Gentlemen, please," Edgar suggested. "Help me with this body."

~~

HG led the way in the cellar with a lamp. "Oh dear," he murmured to himself. Fyodor followed close behind holding one of the bodies, which he dropped to the floor. Ernest and Edgar followed with the second.

"Heh, I was half expecting to find some dead bodies already down here," Ernest said, only half-joking.

"That's absurd," Edgar replied. They dropped the body. "At this temperature?"

~~

Back up in the dining room, Charlotte was speaking to the room. "I'm with Miss Shelley. I think this is preposterous and it's a fate worse than death to be held here with all of you a moment longer."

"Miss Shelley," Annabel said to the woman, "right before the lights went out, you rose to say something quite urgent."

"Fine," Mary sighed, downing the rest of her wine. She set the glass on the table. "You all may know that I initially published my seminal work, Frankenstein, anonymously. What you may not know is why. Years ago, my husband and I retreated to Lake Geneva with Lord Byron and his mistress. Your beau," she addressed Annabel, "Eddie Dantes, was also in attendance, as he was a friend of the great poet."

Ernest took a sip from his flask. He wasn't really listening anymore, he was watching Mary Ann. She consistently avoided his eyes but she was listening to Mary still. He just had to hope that they would both make it out of there alright.

"Byron entreated us to come up with a ghost story, and this is, of course, where I birthed my monster... who in turn birthed another monster. But perhaps there was yet another monster. You see, Eddie may have made a rogue suggestion, nothing more than a turn of phrase here or there but he insisted on taking more credit than he was due. I had to publish anonymously at first and ever since he swore that he would discredit all that I have accomplished."

"Okay, so, hella motive," Lenore said, pointing to Mary. "I swear I had nothing to do with his death, I didn't even know he was coming! And I've never even met Louisa May Alcott."

"You understand this is quite suspicious," Edgar said in a grave tone.

"Or it's pure coincidence," Charlotte cut in.

"You also got a coincidence hidden in your britches?" Ernest said, glancing at Mary Ann. She still wouldn't look at him.

"Sweetie, if I had ever met that hunk of meat, he wouldn't have been Cinderella's plus one tonight," Charlotte laughed drily. "It would have been the ravishing Charlotte Brontë and her handsome lover, Eduardo Dantes. We would be the talk of the town..."

Edgar looked at her. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Hm?"

"You said, 'Eduardo'."

"Well, yes. That was his name, wasn't it?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't believe we ever said his full name," Annabel said delicately.

Charlotte was still smiling but it didn't reach her eyes. "Okay. So?"

"Well, if I heard the name 'Eddie', I wouldn't assume his full name was 'Eduardo'. That's quite unique - I would assume it was 'Edgar'," said Edgar.

"No, you would assume it was 'Edward'," Oscar said.

"No-"

"'Edward' is most common long name for 'Eddie'," Fyodor leaned in.

"No, there are many common long names for Eddie. 'Edwin'," Edgar said. "Ed... br. Edbrm... Edberv? Edg-Edgrm. That's French. Ed- Eddle..." Everyone looked at him in disbelief. "Ed Eddle."

"The point is, you were familiar with our deceased guest," HG said.

"Oh. Fine. I find this coincidence strange and confusing, possibly incriminating, which is the only reason I resisted initially, but I have nothing to hide." Everyone looked at her expectantly. "Eddie was a banker who was foreclosing on our family home," she said quickly.

"Okay, hold up," Lenore said. "We are officially entering mystery mode and Agatha Christie is still late. We've gotta take notes. Who here is the best writer?"

Everyone except for Lenore herself and Annabel, who both weren't writers, raised their hand. Lenore sighed and shook her head. "Okay, um... you, goggles," she tossed a notepad to HG and he almost fell over catching it but turned and walked to the corner of the room to take notes.

"So, did he foreclose?" Mary Ann asked.

Charlotte scoffed. "That wasn't going to happen. My siblings and I are all so very talented that we would surely have come up with the money to make amends and put an end to this nonsense. Who do you think we are? The Austens?"

They all laughed.

"Yes, he wasn't so bad," Mary Ann said. "I met him through my publisher." Ernest watched her carefully from his spot by the wall opposite. "Though I was worried he was going to reveal my true identity as a woma... nizer. A womanizer." She nodded.

"What?" Ernest asked loudly.

Mary Ann looked at him, a silent plea in her eyes to not give her away. "You know, like a real ladykiller?"

"So a murderer?" Oscar asked.

"No, no, it's- it's a saying. You know, like a real Don Juan." She looked around more desperately but this time it was Ernest who was avoiding looking at her. "A cad about town? Hey, it's a real shame about those dead people, huh?"

"Okay, who here didn't know Eddie?" Edgar asked.

"Lenscrafters, what's the consensus?" Lenore asked HG. He looked up at everyone nervously as they turned to face him in his corner of the room. He had a board on an easel beside him with names, pictures and red string attached.

"Where did you get those pictures?" Annabel asked.

He ignored the question. "According to my copious notes, probable cause in this double homicide abounds. Who here hated Eddie with the most fervour? Who among us wanted this good man to be out of this world for good? Who here had the most to gain from his untimely demise?"

Everyone turned to look at Edgar.

Oscar spoke. "Between men and women, there is no friendship. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship." Finally, Ernest and Mary Ann caught each other's eyes but both quickly looked away.

"But you-" Edgar fell silent and looked around the room at everyone. "Oscar, come on. I knew I shouldn't have invited you."

"Eliminating the only obstacle to your unrequited love," Ernest said, taking a glass of wine from the table and a sip from it. "Story for the ages." He glanced at Mary Ann again and her eyes were wide and soft and sad.

"Actually, uh," HG interrupted, "I've- I've transposed motive, location, and, uh, temperament into numerical form, uh, you know, and mapped out a formula to- to produce a value of probable guilt. And- and it seems that the most likely culprit is..." He looked at his board and then turned back to the room, his voice soft. "Miss Shelley."

She raised her eyebrows. "Numbers cannot see into my heart. I am innocent and I demand that this issue be looked into by professionals."

"I'm with Mary," Charlotte said. "I will not be terrorized by some poorly written warning. We are adults and we should alert the authorities."

"I beg of you, I wish to get to the bottom of this as well," Edgar said, but Mary was already walking towards the hall.

"I'm not going that way. As we've seen, that way lies certain death," Charlotte said.

"Fine. I am certain we can find our way out of here," Mary said. She went to another door.

"No, I think it unwise to leave," warned HG, but her hand was already on the doorknob. There was a fizz and she fell down, dead as a doornail.

Oscar ran to her side. "It's ALIIIIVE! ... is something I would say if she was alive. She is not."

Ernest ran to the door and managed to wedge it open. A tangled mess of wires led to HG's machine that he had brought in earlier.

"Wells' contraption," Ernest said.

"Oh. Oh, no, no no no. I didn't, I didn't do this. I left that right over there." He pointed back to where they had all been sitting not half an hour before.

"This is problematic," Edgar said. Ernest pushed him away from Annabel.

"Sweetheart, you came to this fool's house for a night of quiet entertainment." He kissed her hand and Mary Ann tried not to flinch, standing right behind him. "And he has endangered you." He kissed her hand again. Mary Ann looked up at him with a hurt expression but he paid her no attention. "But I shall get to the bottom of this," he finished in a whisper and one more kiss on her hand.

"Friends! Something's afoot," Ernest said to everyone. Mary Ann's hand curled into the table cloth in a fist and she looked down at it, trying not to show her emotions.

"I suggest we scour the house for clues. I suggest... we split up." Mary Ann dropped the tablecloth and looked back up at Ernest, concerned.


	5. A Descent Into the Maelström

"Wait, wait, wait," Oscar said. "Split up?"

"Yes. Pair off," Ernest looked directly at Annabel who smiled slightly. Mary Ann almost reached out a hand to take his arm but thought better of it.

"That's a terrible idea. Whoever is paired with the murderer will be in grave danger," Edgar said.

Ernest looked at him. "Are you really suggesting one of us is the murderer?"

"Yes! Who else could it be?" Edgar said, his voice rising in frustration.

"You," everyone said.

"If I had wanted to kill Eddie, I wouldn't have done it in a crowded room full of potential witnesses that I invited. I would have been far more inconspicuous, perhaps learning a foreign language to throw off anyone within earshot - Mandarin, probably. Then I would have followed him home from work at the bank on a Tuesday because he uses the back entrance off of Pratt Street." Lenore put a held the bridge of her nose and HG was desperately taking notes.

"Then, to further confound authorities, I would have planted something inscrutable like the feather of a Brazilian peacock," he held up a feather from a peacock, "or the rind of a fruit, only grown in Papua New Guinea, at which point I- I would-" He looked at the fruit in one of his hands and the feather in the other. Everyone stared at him.

"I mean, that was just one idea I had," he mumbled. "Oh, that's incriminating. I hear that now."

"This is tiresome," Charlotte said. "Let's just split into pairs and be done with it."

"Killer talk!" Lenore said.

"Watch it!"

"I'd be so threatened if I wasn't already dead."

"Uh, perhaps it would make the most sense to start at- at the top and then work our way down," HG suggested.

"I could take you to the attic!" Lenore said excitedly, pointing at him. "It's my jam."

"Well, I'm not walking around this place with someone who would actually murder me! Ha!" Oscar said. He looked around. "Mr. Eliot?"

Mary Ann lit up. "Oh, yes. Do not be afraid. I have brought along the Duke of Coventry," she held up her left hand, "and Humphrey Cadwallader-" her right "-for your protection."

"Yes... yes, that is what I meant," Oscar said. Mary Ann winked at him.

"I just don't see why we can't hold tight until Miss Christie arrives," Annabel said.

"Sweetie, I'm not waiting around for Agatha while the rest of us keep dying off," Charlotte said. "This is just like that time last year at our summer estate when everyone thought my sister Emily had been maliciously poisoned but it turned out she had just caught the influenza!" Her face fell. "Which killed her."

"Edgar, what can I do to help?" Annabel asked. He looked at her for a moment. "Annabel and I will explore upstairs. Perhaps the murderer left a hair-"

"Or perhaps he lives here," Ernest said, turning around accusatorily. "She's not going alone, Poe. I'm coming along." Mary Ann looked at the floor.

"Besides," Ernest said. "There's an odd number of us so there has to be at least one group of three."

"Actually, there's an even number-"

"I suppose that leaves me with the most murder-y looking person here," Charlotte sighed, gesturing to Fyodor.

He held up a shot glass. "A toast. To ending this horrible night. Certainly the worst of any of our lives." Ernest raised his flask to the Russian.

"Bottoms up," Oscar chuckled. "Right?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Charlotte said exasperatedly.

~~

Ernest, Edgar and Annabel entered one of the upstairs rooms, a bedroom.

"Miss Lee," Ernest said. "have you ever enjoyed the final drops of a robust Rioja while taking in a golden Spanish sunset?" He winked and pointed to her. "If we ever get out of here alive-"

"Oh, put a sock in it, you drunk," Edgar interrupted. "We're supposed to be looking for clues."

"And I found one." Ernest's voice was smooth. "The only clue I need to the mystery of who I'm going to Spain with-" he straightened out the bedsheets "-after this nightmare is over, huh? Huh?" He winked at Annabel.

"Thank you, Ernest, but I actually have taken in a golden Spanish sunset quite recently. I found the whole experience rather overrated."

"You did? You went to Spain? With Eddie?" Edgar asked quickly.

"Yes," Ernest cut in. "Overrated. Exactly. Finally, someone who agrees with me. Can't stand the place? Sunsets? Might as well watch the paint dry. France, however-"

"I like Spain, I'll go to Spain."

"Poe, I don't think your complexion and that climate-"

"You know, you'd think I'd burn, but-"

Annabel slammed a book closed. "Excuse me. Three people have died tonight in this house, one of whom was very dear to me- VERY DEAR TO ME - and I will not have you bicker about vacation spots! I will scour this upstairs by myself if I must!" She walked out of the room.

Edgar and Ernest paused, and then Ernest flopped back down onto the bed, a cigarette hanging from his lips. "Oh, don't smoke. And don't litter!" Edgar snapped. "What is wrong with you?"

Ernest sat up and Edgar snatched the cigarette from him and picked up a piece of paper from the ground. Ernest rolled his eyes and then lunged for the paper. "Hey, hey, give that here!"

"This is an IOU to Eduardo Dantes."

"Look." Ernest's voice was soft but firm. "I owed the man for a sports bet, nothing more. He gave me extra time to pay up and- I was close to extinguishing my debt!!" He stood up. "I'm a man of my word."

Edgar looked at him. "Oh, I believe that."

Ernest's voice got softer. "Please. Don't tell the others." Don't tell Mary Ann.

Edgar scoffed. "That you're a liar, and a drunk, and a deadbeat?" Ernest took out another cigarette to steady his trembling hands but Edgar took that one, too. "Annabel was right. Oh, for crying out loud."

They stared at each other. "I'm going to explore the other bedrooms." He left the room and Ernest already had a third cigarette. He had his flask in the other hand and downed half of it and then sat on the bed again. "Fuck."

He hadn't meant to be so rude to the others. He hadn't meant to leave Mary Ann like that, hadn't meant to flirt with Annabel the way he did. Well, he had, but he didn't mean to continue.

Or maybe Mary Ann left him. He downed the rest of the alcohol and lay back on the bed staring at the ceiling. He whispered it again.

"Fuck."

~~

"So Frankenstein is not the name of the monster?" Oscar asked, holding up the lamp. It wasn't doing much to help them see but it was better than nothing.

Mary Ann struggled to put down the third body but let it flop to the floor. "Nope! He's just the doctor."

"So, what's the name of the monster?" Oscar asked impatiently.

"Uh, it was... pretty sure it was Karen."

"Oh, I had a cousin named Karen. She was so rude."

They came across some sort of box, about the size of a telephone booth. "Look..." Mary Ann switched the light on. "Oh! It's an elevator!" Oscar said excitedly.

Mary Ann got into it with Oscar right behind her. He slid the door closed and after a second it moved steadily upwards. They came out a proper door into-

"The kitchen!" They looked down at a squeaking and both screamed. "Bloody hell, it's a mouse!" Mary Ann squealed. They both quickly went back into the elevator and Mary Ann slammed the door behind them.

"This is by far the worst thing that has happened tonight!" Oscar said.

They both stood in the elevator crying and clinging to each other as it moved back down.

Oscar switched off the light and they stumbled out of the elevator to a cawing.

"Wait..." Mary Ann said quietly. "Oscar... do you hear that?"

"Oh, isn't this a portending portal?"

"Should we look around in here?" Mary Ann pushed through a door and it swung shut behind her, clicking. She tried the handle. "Well... that is not great."

"Mary Ann!" Oscar pounded on the door. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm- wait- Mary Ann? I'm- I don't- I- I'm not familiar with that name. I-"

"Ugh, stop it. What's in there?"

"I think it's- ooh! Ravens?"

"Hold on, I'm going to get a crowbar. Or- a raven-bar?"

"Oscar! Stop it."

"Oh, what about a cockatiel bar?"

"No, stop- Oh, I got one, I got one - a blue-footed booby bar! Stop! Stop."

"Oh, this is wonderful-"

"I am loving this gaiety, but- I-I- there is excrement all over me, please-"

"Oh, alright. I'll be back. Hold on."

~~

"Edgar? Ernest!"

They arrived at the same time. "Annabel. I came as soon as I heard."

"We-" Edgar sighed. "We both did." The two men looked at each other.

"Look what I found." They looked down at the tiny bottle in her hand.

"What gives, Poe? Very mysterious having vials of poison lying around." Ernest waved it in the other man's face and Edgar leaned back. "Who would just leave an incriminating piece of evidence out in the open?"

"Look closely," Annabel said softly.

"Whose blood is that?" Ernest whispered.

There was suddenly a scream and the trio ran as fast as they could to where it came from, leaving the vial of poison on the edge of the dumbwaiter.

They found the source of the scream in the study. "Charlotte! What is it?" Edgar asked her immediately.

Fyodor lay on the floor with blood pooled around his head and an axe on the carpet nearby.


	6. The Oval Portrait

"Oh, guys, we really need to get a handle on this situation," Oscar said dramatically.

Ernest paced and Charlotte cried quietly.

"Edgar, now will you hire a cleaning lady? This blood is never going to come out of the carpet!" Lenore said.

"In case anyone cares to remember, I was against splitting up. Unlike some people..." He glared at Ernest, who raised his shoulders in a silent shrug of defence.

Mary Ann charged into the room and ended up in the corner near Charlotte and Ernest. "I came as soon as I heard!"

"We all did," everyone said.

"What is... that?" Charlotte asked, pointing at Mary Ann's shirt.

Ernest leaned in a little to look at the grime.

She sighed. "I believe I discovered the ravenry. Found my way out through a vent. This has been a terrible night."

Ernest silently placed a gentle hand on her lower back and she looked over her shoulder to him. He nodded slightly and she nodded back. It meant nothing to most, but they understood each other. I'm sorry. Me too, we'll talk later.

"According to the evidence at hand, and based on the hypothesis that no one else is in the house other than the guests invited to Edgar's dinner party, you, Charlotte, are the primary suspect in this particular murder," HG said.

Charlotte scoffed in disbelief. "What?"

"Culpability is evident by your sole witnessing of the crime and your geographic location in relation to the crime scene." HG promptly tripped over the dead man's legs.

"Charlotte, no one is accusing you-"

"No, I am," Oscar interrupted. "I definitely am."

"-but could you please tell us what happened?"

"It was dark, so I walked across the room to turn on a lamp." Charlotte poured herself a glass of wine. "I heard a horrible sound and once I managed to get the light on, I saw Dostoevsky on the ground like this! And then I suppose I screamed," she took a sip of the drink.

"Agatha Christie will be here soon. She'll hopefully be able to figure all of this out."

"I think I may have already done just that," Ernest said. Mary Ann turned back to him. Oscar gasped dramatically.

"Friends, although it's likely our comrade here wasn't poisoned, it seems that our host has a significant amount of the stuff upstairs!" He pointed to Edgar and hit HG in the face with his elbow. Mary Ann also glared at Edgar.

"That wasn't mine. And this man-" the host hit Oscar in the face with his elbow "-is a liar who was in debt to Eddie for losing a sports bet. And he hates going to Spain," he added.

"What?!" Oscar gasped.

"Strong words for a poison baron!" Ernest said. "Perhaps you have another vault filled with the stuff in addition to this fabulous wine?"

"I hope I still get to pre-order his Tales from the Moscow Prison short story anthology," Mary Ann said.

"I read the galley. It's a real hatchet job. Huh? Huh?" Oscar smiled.

"Oh, Oscar, you're looking awfully suspect," Annabel said. "Take it easy with all the jokes."

"You think this is easy?" There was a slight scream and Oscar had wine spilled on one of the sleeves of his shirt.

"What was that about?" Lenore asked, clearly out of patience.

"Sorry!" Charlotte said. "I-I forgot about him. And then I looked over there." She gestured to Fyodor.

"Can someone take this wire and tie her up?" Lenore asked. She passed it to Emily who stepped forwards to do as the ghost said.

Edgar slipped off his coat. "We should probably get this body out of here. Gentlemen?"

Mary Ann stepped forwards immediately. "Right!"

HG looked slightly confused and Ernest just looked done with all of this.

Mary Ann bent down and then straightened up again. "Ah, nope, nope. You know, it's a rest day. Probably shouldn't work the old muscles too much."

Ernest looked at her in disbelief as she returned to stand by his side and then stepped forward. I should stay with her. He sighed and pulled out the flask, walking around to stand by the shelves on the other side of the room.

"To the vault! Right?"

HG and Edgar struggled to carry Fyodor away but they managed to somehow.

Meanwhile, Emily was tying Charlotte to the chair. "Honestly, why would I kill him when I was the only one with him? It's far too incriminating." Ernest sighed and shook his head. He changed his mind again and left to follow the others down to the vault. Better to keep an eye on them. Mary Ann would be safe for now with the others.

"I dunno," Mary Ann said. "Maybe he made a snide remark about your dress? I, however, think it's lovely. Where'd you get it?" She paused. "In case I wanna buy one for my lady friend. Who I am courting." She nodded, wishing Ernest hadn't gone. "Successfully."

"Oh, I think I might pass out from all the blood," Emily sighed.

"Oh, hang on, dear. You're just a little flush." Annabel led Emily to a chair and sat her down, crouching in front of her.

"Thank you, Miss Lee. I am truly sorry for your loss tonight."

"Thank you." The two women smiled softly at each other.

"And Mr. Wilde, why aren't you more concerned?" Charlotte asked. "People are dying around you, you could be next!"

"Is that a thrrrrrreat, Miss Brontë?"

"You know, I lived across from a plot of land Eddie owned," Emily said. "He was to build a branch of his bank there. I fear I was so distraught over the people and noise it would attract, I wrote him several strongly worded poems begging him to reconsider. But I am sorry this happened."

"Ugh, ladies. I'm sorry. But this is my most foppish shirt and I must attend to it immediately in the bathroom. Luckily, I always have a change of clothes for every occasion. You never know where you're going to end up in the morning, hm?" He snapped at Annabel and then Mary Ann.

"Why?" Annabel asked.

"I could stand to use the little boys' room and take off some of this bird poo."

"I'll show you to the washroom. Lenore, Emily - watch Miss Brontë," Annabel said, following the two into the hall.

~~

"You're gonna have a trove of celebrated authors down here soon if we don't nab the culprit," Ernest said.

HG and Edgar left through the door he was holding open and Ernest stayed behind. He snagged the bottle of vodka from Fyodor's lifeless body and took the cork out with his teeth, his other hand holding the lantern. He took a long sip from it and sighed. He paused and looked around the room.

~~

"Here you are," Annabel said. "Oscar?"

He handed his clean shirt to Mary Ann. "You need this more than I do."

She took it with a grateful smile and gestured for him to go first. "Oh, no, no, please. Ladies first."

Mary Ann laughed. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, but thank you, very kind of you." She went into the washroom.

The doorbell rang.

~~

Mary Ann took a gasp of air, looking up. She felt numb but was faintly aware of searing pain in the back of her head. She had fallen, she didn't remember sitting down.

"I have something important to say." Where's Ernest? I need him.

"Yes?" Annabel asked. "Who did this to you?"

I need Ernie. I need-

"You may not believe it, but I-" She took off her hat with a trembling hand.

I love you. She tore off the fake moustache. "George Eliot... am a woman."

I love you.

"Yes, dear. We knew that already. But who-"

Ernest.

~~

"I did it!" Ernest said.

Everyone gasped and turned around. "You did?" Oscar asked.

"Yes. I brought knives for everyone, for protection!"

"No, in protecting us, you will also be giving the murderer a knife."

"Alright, I think the murderer is doing alright," Lenore said.

"You disappear while two people are murdered, and then reappear with instruments of death?" Oscar asked skeptically.

"Well, I was in the kitchen... where the knives live." Some tiny alarm in Ernest's head went off but he ignored it.

"How am I still tied up?" Charlotte asked.

"Ugh, fine." Lenore snapped her fingers and everyone went back to the hall while Ernest went to cut Charlotte free.

"Careful, watch yourself. Have you done this before?" Charlotte asked incredulously.

"Is this arousing, or what?" He asked with a smirk.

"No, what's- oh, god." Charlotte looked away.

They went out to the front hall, catching up with the others just as they got to Agatha Christie.

"She was stabbed," Edgar said after counting the stab wounds.

"If I- If I may offer a, uh, suggestion?" HG asked.

"Please," Edgar said.

"Excuse me, pardon, sorry," HG pushed through the women. "This is- um- this is very unlike me, but..." he turned to Lenore. "You were saying something about your family hiring a psychic to conjure ghosts of the dead?"

"Mhm. Krishanti," Lenore smiled.

"Well, we have a lot of dead people in this house, I'm sure at least one of them saw whoever killed them."

Lenore gasped excitedly. "Is the good professor suggesting we have a seance?"


	7. Spirits of the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this is supposed to be when they're waiting for Krishanti cause it probably took some amount of time for her to get there.

Everyone returned to the study.

"Wait," Ernest said slowly, sitting down in a chair. "You said two people died while I was gone. Agatha Christie and... where's George Eliot?"

Everyone was quiet. "Where's George?" He repeated, louder, getting to his feet.

"She was found in the washroom with a portrait over her head," Annabel said quietly.

"She," Ernest echoed. "She's not-"

"I'm afraid so," Oscar said.

"Did she say anything?" Ernest sat down again, his voice quiet and dangerous. He stared at his hands.

"She just told us that she's a woman. Which we all already knew," Oscar scoffed.

"Mary Ann Evans." Ernest sighed. "My Mae..." he added in a murmur which no one heard.

Oscar gasped softly. "You knew her..."

"We- Yeah." he looked up and around at everyone. "She said nothing else?"

Annabel gently shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck." Ernest was glad he found that bottle of vodka - he had refilled his flask with as much as he could and he took sips from it now. It helped take the edge off enough so his hands stopped shaking. "She couldn't. She couldn't, we... we were going to..."

Annabel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sweetie."

Ernest flinched away. "Don't." His voice was soft and dangerous and steady. "Don't touch me." He took another long drink. "And no one fucking told me sooner?"

Everyone was silent. Ernest shook his head. "I can't deal with this. Is she still there?"

Annabel nodded. "I can-"

"No," Ernest said. "Don't follow me. I didn't fucking murder her. I just need to see her."

He left the room. He stepped into the kitchen and grabbed the rest of the bottle of vodka from the counter where he left it before continuing to the bathroom.

She was still there, slumped between a small chair and the wall.

He put the flask and bottle on the edge of the sink and took the painting off her head, leaning it against the wall with barely a second glance. He laid her down on the floor, smoothing down her clothes, and rested the hat she had borrowed from him for the evening on her chest. He laid down on the floor beside her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He squeezed his eyes closed until he saw spots. He took her cold hand. "I wish you were just asleep. I'm sorry. I love you."

He felt his breath catch in his throat. "I love you, Mary Ann. And I never told you. I was going to tonight, after this. And then maybe we would tell the others. Maybe. And maybe you could wear clothes you loved."

He smiled. His throat felt tight. "I bought a dress for you. Now you won't know. Your favourite colour, that navy. I love you and that scared me. I'm sorry."

He lay there on the floor for a while. Finally, he sat up slowly.

"I'm sorry I love you. I just hope you weren't ever scared of me."

He got up carefully and glanced at the flask and the bottle. He poured as much as he could from the bottle into the flask and left it on the edge of the sink, tucking his flask into his suit jacket.

He looked at himself on the mirror and then splashed water on his face. That's better. He left Mary Ann in the washroom: she didn't deserve to go into the dark cellar with the others.

When he returned he didn't say anything to the others and they didn't say anything to him. Everyone was still in the study, except-

"She should be here soon, guys," Lenore returned, smiling.

"How do you know this conjurer?" Ernest asked, not fully trusting her.

"She's the one who summoned me. So good with dead people."

"Again, do not tell her about the murders. She must know nothing," HG said softly from near Ernest's elbow.

"Don't tell the psychic ghost summoner about all the dead people. Got it," Charlotte Brontë said.

The doorbell rang and Lenore lit up again. "She's here!" She ran off to the front door.

Ernest zoned out. He became conscious of a steady pulsing beat against his wrist and pushed back his sleeve to see his watch. The very one Mary Ann had given him last month. She said it was for no reason, but she wasn't the only one keeping track of the days. They both knew it was for their six-month anniversary together. Ernest had given her a suit. It was what she said she wanted when he asked - he wasn't good at presents - but looking back, he wished he had given her a dress. It would have made her happier, he knew.

A strange woman in green burst into the room, closely followed by Lenore. "Guys, this is Krishanti," Lenore said. "She's very... hands-on."

Krishantia went around the room, waving her hands in people's faces. "Just getting a sense of everyone's auras," Krishanti said.

Ernest held up a hand to block her but she did the same to him and then HG. The inventor fell back slightly.

"Oh, careful. I get very cranky when people's hands touch my face," Charlotte said.

HG tried to hold onto Ernest's sleeve but the man in the chair slapped him away.

"I want to thank you... for your invitation into this sacred space. Oh, I feel several spirits in the air this eve. I am anxious to hear what they have to say."

Krishanti paused and stared at the ceiling for a moment before speaking loudly. "Form a circle, everyone. I need a candle - unused, white - to cleanse the room."

"Ah, yes," Edgar said. He opened his vest to reveal rows of candles lining the inside.

"Good god, man, are you opening up a chandlery?" Ernest asked, half forcing a laugh. "It's a medieval term for a wax and candle shop," he added to HG beside him.

"One never knows when one may be catastrophically immersed in total darkness in this world, one must always be prepared."

"One must," Oscar said.

"Spirits of the realm! Hear me," Krishantia said. "I am the mother goddess, Krishanti Ravenwolf. Answer our call. We mean you no harm. Only to receive your bountiful messages from the great beyond - come, give us a sign."

Ernest watched skeptically until there was a breeze. "Did someone leave a window open?" Emily asked uncertainly.

"I think that was our sign," HG said anxiously.

"Ugh. When someone summons me and asks for a sign, I show up and I'm like, 'Here's a sign, it says this way to the salon. When was the last time you had your eyebrows done?'" Lenore said.

Oscar laughed.

"Edgar, I'm terribly frightened," Annabel said.

"No, no, don't be," Edgar replied. "It's merely the ghosts of those murdered in the house over the last hour returned to tell us which one of us is the murderer."

Krishanti didn't hear them. "Ah! It appears we have our first spirit returned to us."

"Where?" Oscar asked.

Krishanti pointed. "I'm not a ghost!" Emily protested. "I'm a live person!"

"Ah! I hear another! Apparition from another realm, speak your name!" Krishanti said.

And suddenly, Mary Ann was there. Everyone gasped softly and Ernest stared. His words were gone. She looked beyond Krishanti and straight at him.

"O may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again. In minds of those made better by their presence: live in pulses stirred to generosity, in deeds of daring rectitude..."

Just as quickly as she appeared, Mary Ann was gone. Another quickly formed in her place: Mary Shelley.

"Strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin..."

Ernest silently handed his flask to HG as she disappeared and Fyodor Dostoevksky arrived.

"He pulled the axe quite out, swinging it with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost without effort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head."

"Yes, yes, yes, we understand. You were all very verbose. Now get to the point," Ernest said. "This is why I despise writers," he added to HG, taking the flask back from him. He could have sworn he felt a cool hand touch his other shoulder, the one the inventor wasn't standing by, but he glanced back and no one was there.

Another man appeared, a man unfamiliar to them all except one.

"Wait, who is this?" Edgar asked. "Spirit, speak your truth to us," Krishanti said.

"She is not able. The past comes into the present. The one who kills for sport." Lenore stepped forwards and he turned to look at her, love in his eyes. "The one who couldn't bring me back. Beware."

There was a small sneeze. "Sorry," Charlotte said. "I'm allergic to lavender and it's just all over the room now."

Krishanti looked nervous. "Sage then, perhaps, to continue the seance. I will go get some. Excuse me," she smiled.

"I'm going with her," Emily said. "We really should stay together," Annabel responded. "She can't go alone, there may be a killer out there!"

"Erma, please stay put," Edgar interrupted.

"It's- it's Emily. No. You know, I am standing up for myself!" She tripped. "I am now standing up for myself and I am going to find the sage that she needs for the ghosts. I am not nobody!" Emily left the room.

"So, who's with me in saying that Dostoevsky is rocking the dead vibe? Am I right?" Oscar asked. Lenore nodded.

"I thought he looked stupid," Charlotte said.

Ernest nodded. "One who kills for sport. I got it. Kipling. Rudyard Kipling. It's him." He forced a smile and was surprised to find HG's hand in his own. This time, he didn't pull away.

~~

"So..." Oscar sat down in a chair. "Who was he?"

"My fiancee," Lenore replied. "Dear Guy. He was bae. He killed himself over me," she added. "Krishanti could never bring him back - until now."

"It just doesn't sit right that we've let poor Emily wander off alone," Annabel said, turning to leave. "I'm going to go accompany her."

"But then you'll be all alone!" Charlotte said.

"Not if one of us goes with her!" Ernest said. He hadn't meant for it to sound like that, he just had to move. He couldn't bear to just sit in that room knowing he had just seen Mary Ann for possibly the last time ever.

"I will! I will go with her!" Edgar said, following him out the door. Something felt wrong to Ernest about that. "Nah, I think not friend. She needs the protection of a real man."

"Oh, come on!"

"OR YOU COULD ARGUE ABOUT IT WHILE SHE GETS MURDERED!" Oscar called. They paused in the hall and looked at one another and then hurried off.


	8. Mesmeric Revelation

There was a scream from the kitchen.

Ernest was there in a moment. "It's that hippie witch!" Lenore and Oscar followed close behind and Annabel, Charlotte and Edgar came through the kitchen's other door.

Ernest felt for a pulse and then let Krishanti's arm drop to the floor. "She's dead."

"Everyone, look around for clues - a, a weapon, anything!" Annabel said.

"I'm taking a page out of your book, Ernie," Charlotte said, holding up a glass of wine.

"Careful, he won't have many pages left," HG said. "Heyyy!" Lenore held up her hand for a high five and HG accidentally slapped Oscar instead, who slapped him back.

"Alright. We'll work on that," Lenore sighed.

"Where's Emily?" Annabel asked. Everyone turned to look at her in confusion.

"Who?" Charlotte asked.

"Emily Dickinson."

"Who?"

"Is that a cat? Do you have a cat?" Ernest asked.

"She just-" Annabel frowned. "She was just in the room with us."

"Oh. Is this it?" Edgar asked, gesturing to the woman lying half across the doorframe on the floor.

Oscar gasped and ran to her side. "Oh, Emily!" He stopped. "Oh, no. That's a different Emily."

"I'll fetch her things," Charlotte said. "I'll come with you," Annabel chimed in.

"We'll follow forthwith," Ernest said. Better to keep moving, keep his mind occupied.

"My, we are becoming adept at this murder game, are we not?" Charlotte paused in the doorway to ask.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Brontë. Yes indeed," Edgar said solemnly. Ernest and HG carried Krishanti out of the room.

Ernest and HG carried Krishanti down the hall draped between them. "Are- Are you... alright?" HG asked nervously.

"What do you mean?" Ernest asked skeptically. They got to the stairs to the basement and carried her down.

"I mean with... all of this... and Mary Ann," HG grunted, trying not to let the woman fall. She wasn't heavy, just awkward to carry.

"Oh." The question took Ernest aback. Was he alright? "Um."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have." They let the lifeless woman fall to the ground alongside the others. Ernest didn't look at them. They began to go back upstairs and heard another scream. Without so much as a glance between them they ran back to the kitchen with Annabel and Charlotte on their heels.

"Emily," Annabel said.

"What, we leave for one second and a dead person gets remurdered?" Ernest asked frustratedly.

"Okay, we all left the study. Any one of us could have killed Miss Krishanti or Miss Dickinson," Annabel said.

"If I had to guess, Emily witnessed Krishanti's murder when she came to accompany her," Edgar said carefully.

"Yeah," Ernest agreed, "but who here had the motive to kill the jingle-jangle witch?"

Oscar gasped. "Lenore! You have weird ghost powers. And she could never bring back your boyfriend."

"That's balderdash!" HG responded. "I'm the one who suggested seance-ing!"

"Seance-ing's not a word," Lenore said softly.

"Seance-ing isn't a word!" HG repeated.

"I suppose I had motive," Edgar suggested, "because Krishanti is responsible for bringing Lenore back to life and foisting her upon me." He chuckled and the others looked at him. "Yes. No joking around."

"Whatevs, grim reaper," Lenore said. "You'd die of loneliness without me anyway."

Edgar paused. "Oscar. What is it you just said about loneliness?"

"Oh, guys! I just said that Emily was crushed by the feather of loneliness!"

Everyone laughed. "That actually is quite amusing," Charlotte said.

"You do hit them on the head occasionally, chap!" Ernest added.

"Emily was crushed, as if by loneliness," Edgar repeated. "I have an idea. To the washroom!"

"The frame!" Edgar said. Ernest was distracted by looking down at Mary Ann, still lifeless there. He stood at the back of the group but tried to ignore the pain in his chest. He'd already said goodbye, he should have been fine, right?

Edgar, crouched on the ground, turned the painting around from the wall.

"Oscar?" HG asked. It was indeed a portrait of Oscar Wilde.

"Edgar," Annabel said. He looked up quickly. "This isn't mine."

"Sure," Oscar said.

"Listen, we are being dispatched in ways that are relevant to our artistic output," Edgar explained. "Think about it! Miss Alcott with the scarlet fever - Miss Shelley with the electricity - Dostoevsky with the axe - Miss Christie with the Indian blade-"

"Oh yeah, and George Eliot was killed by a portrait of Oscar Wilde, just like that famous poem she wrote!" Lenore said. Oscar scoffed and Edgar stood up. "I think the killer intended to kill Oscar, but somehow things got mixed up."

"Oscar did suggest George go into the bathroom first," Annabel said. "She was covered in birdie bits!" Oscar protested. "I- I was being a gentleman. Also, that picture is wrong. Look - my nose, my face, my back - it's all off."

"No, no, we mustn't jump to conclusions," HG said. "It is possible that Oscar is the murderer." The man gasped. "But it's also possible that he was the intended victim."

"And the killer messed up," Annabel said.

Edgar looked at the man. "Either way, Oscar must be protected and isolated."

~~

They had been standing in the living room for at least ten minutes before anyone spoke. It was Ernest: he didn't love being there, to begin with, but without Mary Ann or moving around it was torture.

He reflected on how much better and more interesting Mary Ann had made everything seem.

"Standing around silently and staring - sounds like another Friday night as Edgar Allan Poe's house," he said.

"If I may," HG began, "I-I feel I may be of more use to the cause if I could continue my work around the house? I assure you, I am working on a system that will help us solve this mystery."

"Oh." Annabel turned to Lenore. "Is he?"

"Well, there are a lot of wires, so I'd say that's promising," Lenore replied happily.

Ernest tried to take a deep breath. They were acting like it was fine. Like people they cared about weren't lying dead in the cellar. In the washroom.

"What if he's the murderer?" Oscar asked.

"I'll go with him again," Lenore said.

"But what if he murders you?" Charlotte asked.

"I am already dead!" Lenore said.

"Fine. Lenore, H... G- HG, please. Hurry."

Breath. Breath. It's okay, Ernest reminded himself.

"We're running out of time!" Annabel reminded them.

"Or are we?" HG asked, a small smile on his face.

He and Lenore left. "We are, right? We are running out of time?"

"Yeah, I mean, I see where you're coming from," Edgar said, seemingly just as confused.

Their bickering was itching its way into his head, scratching at him where he was weakest.

"Yes. Yes! We are running out of time!" Charlotte said.

Ernest's eyes snapped open. "Look, I just can't stand here for the rest of the night, okay?" He growled.

"You sound like you're itching to murder more people!" Oscar said.

The doorbell rang.

"Are we expecting anyone else?" Annabel asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," Edgar replied.

"Let's just leave it," Charlotte said.

"Agreed. Pretend we're not home." Ernest had his breath under a little more control which helped his pounding heart, but only slightly.

"All the lights are on," Annabel said.

"Stay here," Edgar said. "I'll take care of this."

"You guys, we're doing a helluva job staying in one place together," Oscar said.

Ernest put his arms around the two women remaining. "You guys are my favourite ones anyways."

"Oh, my god. No," Charlotte ducked out from under his arm.


	9. The Cask of Amontillado

"Well, this is great. Poe is probably dead now, too," Charlotte said.

"Don't say such a thing," Annabel responded disapprovingly.

"Miss Lee, tonight is a test," Ernest said from an armchair, taking a sip from his flask. It burned going down but it was good. "The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, some are stronger in the broken places." And some are gone for good.

"Yes, life is hard. Thank you, we never would have known," Oscar drawled.

"At least I can confront it like a man," Ernest muttered.

"By punctuating every statement you make with a swig of alcohol, hm?" Oscar stood up.

"I don't hide behind witticisms and bon mots, I tell it like it is." Ernest tucked the flask into his coat and took a sip from a glass instead.

"Where are you getting all these drinks?" Oscar asked.

"I know how to box!" Ernest said, jumping up.

"Oh, here we go with this," Charlotte sighed.

"Yes, I'm sure your boxing matches are as short as your stories," Oscar smirked.

Something overcame Ernest then and he lunged forwards with a strangled yell. Oscar fell back into a chair and Ernest raised a hand to strike the man when he was pulled away by Charlotte and Annabel stood between him and Oscar.

His blood boiled hot, his heart pounded. He lunged around Annabel as soon as Oscar had gotten to his feet and the two ladies tried desperately to keep the two tussling men apart.

There was a sound, someone cleared their throat, and they all paused to see Edgar return with two policemen.

They quickly let go of each other and stood there guiltily.

"We often find that when we are struggling with writer's block, uh, that we... are... struggling with each other," Edgar said.

They all nodded.

"We are so sorry to interrupt," said one of the policemen.

"Yes, this looks like a very intense exercise, and I just want to say," the other added,"... you're all doing very good work on yourselves, and that's important.

"Yes, uh, please. These are officers Jim and JImmy from the local police," Edgar introduced them. "They are investigating the disappearance of an Agatha Christie, and I informed them that we certainly have no knowledge of her whereabouts because we are merely a group of writers having a writer's conference... about food metaphors."

"Have I seen you before somewhere?" Jimmy asked Oscar.

"Probably. I'm very famous," he replied airily.

"A-And sir, can you tell me where you were last Thursday night?" Jim asked Ernest.

"I was..." Ernest remembered where he actually had been - with Mary Ann. They'd had dinner at his house. It was one of the only times he had seen her in a dress, and a plain one at that, but she had been so lively then, so perfect. The glow of her long hair, down for once, on the sheets later that night. The sunlight coming through the curtains in the morning to stripe across her small body tangled in the sheets.

"Hosting friends. Aboard my skiff, off the coast of Cuba. We drank rum, smoked cigars. I wrestled one of them."

"Oh, that sounds like a ton of fun!" Jimmy said.

"It wasn't. Life is suffering." And death makes it worse.

"So none of you have seen Miss Agatha Christie?" Jim asked. "It seems she was invited to this writer's conference."

"We've been in here all night!" Charlotte smiled.

"Just us. In this room," Annabel added.

"Well..." Jim glanced around quickly, "that checks out."

"Sorry again," Jimmy said.

"No trouble!"

"Good night!"

And Edgar and the two men were gone.

"Well, that was thrillingly close!" Annabel said excitedly.

"A little hot-blooded excitement can be good for you sometimes!" Ernest declared.

"Speaking of which," Charlotte said, "where was our invite to your boat party?"

"Perhaps next time, Chuck. Miss Lee, care to join us on my next foray to the Havana?" Even if he didn't mean it, it was good to keep up a steady personality: a drunk, a flirt. Only half of it was true. "We'll drink rum as the sun rises and habanera as it sets," he kissed her hand. Okay, maybe all of it was becoming true.

"You can dance?" Charlotte asked doubtfully.

"Madam, I am an expert in the art of the contradanza." He spun Annabel.

"Well, this I gotta see," Oscar said.

"You doubt me?" Ernest smirked.

"Perhaps."

"Partner up, here we go," he laughed. "I'm not sure if you people are ready for this."

The two pairs, Ernest with Annabel and Oscar with Charlotte, were soon dancing around the room.

"Legs move together, no more crossing! Where are we, Argentina?! Come on!"

Edgar and the two men returned and they straightened up and let go of each other.

"Often with food metaphors, are we hungry for food? Or each other?" Edgar said rhetorically.

"I'm just so impressed with your dedication to your craft," Jimmy said.

"Yes, we don't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to get an idea of the times that every one got here," Jim agreed.

"Uh, well, I arrived a little bit past 6:00. Never be too available, you know," Ernest said.

The others told them what time they arrived but Ernest became lost in thought again. He'd tried to teach Mary Ann dancing. She wasn't any good at it, but that didn't mean they didn't have fun.

The police turned to Edgar. "... I live here. I've been here all day," he said. "Look, if we're being honest, I don't recall leaving the house in the last ye- month. In the last month. Put that down. Month."

"Well, that'll do folks," Jim said. "Don't mind us!"

They left and Edgar gave them all a glare.

Oscar turned. "'Never be too available'? Might as well etch that onto your tombstone."

"Before you start harping on my lack of vulnerability, know that I learned that from an enclave of Basque monks I camped with in the forests of the Pyrenees."

"Liar."

"So then you are available?" Charlotte asked.

"To the right owner." He winked at Annabel and unscrewed his flask. "Those fellas let isolation get to them, I think. Had a strange way of invigorating the mind: in order to increase brain activity, they often meditated upside down."

"Did it work? Did it make them smarter?" Annabel asked.

"Well... I don't know. Could be worth a shot."

Ernest turned halfway upside down, trying to balance on his hands.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Good god, I guess we're doing this." She draped herself over a chair.

Oscar jumped onto an armchair, putting his legs up the back of it. Annabel stood in the middle of all of them, chanting.

"Fighting and dancing I get, but upside down meditating?" They jumped and Ernest fell. They all straightened up quickly, flushed. "Well, I don't see what this has to do with writing food metaphors!" Jim declared.

"We're gonna need some honest answers here," Jimmy added. "You!" He pointed his pencil to Oscar. "Come here! I've got some questions for you."

"Oh, I- I can't get out of this chair."

Jim whispered something to Jimmy. He turned back. "Okay! Stay there! I'll come to you."

Jimmy asked Oscar questions while Jim looked around the room. Everyone paused when Eddie Dantes was brought up.

Jim leaned down. "What is this?" He put his baton into dark red liquid on the floor and then licked it. Everyone gasped.

"Well. The jig is up... Is this a Malbec?"

"... Yes," Edgar said.

"Constable Jim is known around the office as a bit of a wine snob," Jimmy said.

"Edgar, why don't you offer our guests some of your delicious wine?" Charlotte asked.

"What a fabulous idea, Miss Brontë! Edgar, I'll help you," Annabel said.

"Well, if it's all the same. I did want to take a look around. Do you mind if we join you?" Jim said.

"Sure! Let's just leave this room," Annabel agreed. "Come on."

Hemingway slumped back into a chair once they were gone. "Let's just hope they don't return again," he sighed.


	10. The Sleeper

Ernest and the others joined Edgar, Annabel and the Constables in the hall by the staircase.

"Who died this time?" Oscar laughed.

They looked back up the staircase to see Lenore standing there. She gave them an awkward smile and looked down to HG slumped on the staircase at her feet.

"I can't do this anymore!" Annabel said. "Constables, someone is killing us off one by one! We are trapped in this mansion, and they threaten to kill us if we try to get help! First it way my dear Eduardo Dantes, then Louisa May Alcott-"

Charlotte joined in, "Then Shelley, Dostoevsky, George Eliot, Agatha Christie-"

Edgar nodded. "The fortune-teller, HG Wells..."

"And then, uh, oh..." They paused.

"Mark Twain!" Charlotte said. "No, no, sorry, um... it was.. uh. Ralph Waldo Emerson."

"Emily Dickinson!" Annabel said.

"Oh, the cat," Ernest said.

"All murdered," Annabel continued, "and one of us is the killer!"

"I have a costume ball to attend next week, I would prefer not to die tonight!" Charlotte said haughtily. "The theme is 'Under the Sea' - have you ever heard of a more creative idea?"

"Edgar brilliantly realized that the authors are being killed off in a manner which befits their writing," Annabel said.

"This is some serious information you've been hiding from us," Jimmy said.

"Yes, yes, yes. Even in cases of self-defence, murder is often punishable by death. Which is why I always say, get this down-" Jim said, "DON'T DO MURDER!"

"Fine." Edgar put out his hands, wrists together. "Take us all away, officers. I always knew I would spend my final days in a dark cell with naught but the crow of a raven's call: Nevermore."

"Well, that was too much, but on the contrary, I think we can help," Jim said. Edgar put his hands down. "I have been in a situation much like this before." He told some story about a serial killer on the ship. The two officers ended up finishing their drinks.

"Is that really what we should be doing- yep, they are doing it anyway," Edgar sighed.

"Idiots, all around me. What has my afterlife become?" Lenore stated from the stairs.

"Okay, now we are ready to get to work. Funnily enough, the first course I took in Constable Academy was 'What to do in Case Your Dinner Party Turns Into a Mass Homicide'." He took out a pamphlet. "And the first rule is, 'Don't... drink... anything'..." The policemen looked at each other and then fell down.

"Well, not gonna say I didn't see that coming," Lenore said.

"This is awful!" Annabel sniffed. "Oh, Edgar!" She sobbed into his shoulder and he awkwardly patted her back.

"Well, we can't leave any more dead bodies around. To the vault, boys!" Edgar said.

"Uh- no, excuse me," Charlotte said. "We are all going to the vault. I'm not staying here alone with the crying cupcake and Miss Havisham." Oscar laughed and she pushed him away.

"What's all this about Oscar and Eddie at a party?" Lenore asked.

"Oh, oh that? That was nothing! I don't remember- the vault, right? We were going to the vault."

"No, no, no," Ernest said. "You remember - you're as sharp as a tack!"

Annabel stepped towards him. "What was it, Oscar?"

"Eddie and I knew each other from a party that we met at. Last year. Huh? That's all."

Ernest laughed. "That's definitely not all."

"Nothing too scandalous - although, clearly, that depends on your definition of 'scandalous'..."

"Are you saying...?" Annabel hesitated.

"Your boy and I were a thing. For a night. I don't know. He rebuffed me at the end. I never knew why..."

They all started bickering more and more. Ernest's head was starting to hurt.


	11. Annabel Lee

Ernest walked into the living room. He looked down at the bowls of soup still on the table, now long gone cold. He walked over to his seat and looked down at his name tag in carefully curled letters. He looked to Mary Ann's - which said George Eliot - and picked it up. He slipped it into his pocket.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Charlotte's voice made him jump and he dropped the knife that was in his hand into his bowl of soup. He fished it out again.

"I'm just..." he couldn't keep the slight tremble out of his voice. "Looking around."

"Hah, right!"

Ernest turned and Charlotte was leaned up against the wall in the corner of the room, watching him suspiciously.

"I didn't kill them," Ernest said. He paused. "Wait a second..." he pointed his knife to her, not meaning to be threatening, but she screamed.

Lenore and Oscar ran into the room seconds later.

"Look!" Charlotte said tearfully. "His knife is all bloody! He just stormed in here all crazed!"

He looked to the weapon in his hand and then turned back. "Uh, no it isn't, I dropped it in the damn soup."

Edgar stepped into the room. "Annabel is dead."

There was a silence, broken by Charlotte. "It was Hemingway! He was about to attack me before you came in!"

"You lunatic," Lenore said. "What, are you just trying to kill off people who write in purple prose?"

Ernest gritted his teeth. To be accused of killing the others - of killing Mary Ann - in cold blood. "As much as I think brevity is the strongest asset of composition, I would never murder anyone! Competition is the fire that fuels the author within, right?"

"Ah! So you admit we're competitors!" Charlotte stated triumphantly.

"Annabel wasn't a writer. I had no reason to kill the woman. The obvious killer is the one who invited us to this god-forsaken mansion in the boondocks - Edgar Allan Poe. Confess or be damned!"

"Woah!" Lenore said. "You do not understand how much my roomie loved that ginger!"

"You can walk through walls," Oscar said. "I see no other explanation here! You straight-up murdered these biddies with your magic beans - you were jealous of the life Annabel had, and you want her, and all her friends, dead!"

"Way harsh, Wilde," Lenore said.

"Now that the shock of Hemingway lunging at me with a soup-stained knife has subsided," Charlotte said. "Grow up," Ernest muttered. "I still think it was Annabel! She's the one who invited us all here. The poor girl couldn't handle what she'd done - what, with all the murdering in cold blood - so she killed herself. Maybe you were even in on it, Ernest. I doubt that waif of a girl could have dropped that portrait on George Eliot."

Ernest's hands curled into fists. Not my Mary Ann.

"Oh, goodness, that Mary Ann," Charlotte continued. "I mean, all of us ladies use a male pen name to get published, but she went over the top!"

It was exactly what Hemingway had told her, but it was so different coming from Charlotte. So wrong. Mary Ann.

"She doesn't have the face for a moustache."

"You used a male pen name?" Edgar asked, his voice low.

"Yes," Charlotte laughed, "I'm sorry, are you hard of hearing? I just said that."

"And your sisters, too?"

"Yes. It's ridiculously hard to get published with names like Charlotte, Emily and Anne. People think you're all fluff and bunnies."

"What was your pen name?" Edgar asked.

"Currer Bell. Androgynous, no? I quite liked it. I'd certainly allow a Currer Bell to escort me to the Vivian Nightingale Memorial Ball is you know what I mean."

"And... what were your sister's pen names?"

"Anne was Acton Bell and Emily was Ellis. I remember, she thought it was silly, but I insisted it was terribly professional."

Edgar turned and left the room, returning moments later with the red handkerchief they had found by Louisa May's body. "Acton Bell. A Bell. This handkerchief belongs to your family. It's yours."

"Guy wasn't saying Annabel wasn't able," Lenore realized. "He was saying she wasn't 'A Bell'!"

Oscar gasped. "You crazy, contemptuous cow! You murdered my best fri- my acquaintances! Let's call them acquaintances, mm?"

"What the actual heck is wrong with you?" Lenore demanded.

"I'm going to the police," Ernest said.

"Wait." Edgar held up a hand.

"Why? This woman is an admitted murderer!"

"She didn't do it alone."

"How could she have done this all by herself?" Lenore asked.

"That's what I was saying just now, Lenore," Edgar said. "This is a time for listening, okay?"

"Alright, well I'm just trying-"

"I always have the idea and then you piggyback-"

"This is just like the time the cleaning lady-"

"No, don't- don't tell me it's just like the time- It's just like the time-"

"It's not- I'm-"

"Oh, stop your bickering, you two!" Charlotte said, standing up. "You're just as pathetic as the characters you create. But I do thank you for helping me fulfill my dream of creating the perfect gothic novel in real life."

"Oh, ew," Lenore said. "Is that why you're doing this? To create some literary fantasy you can fulfill?"

"Oh, no. I did it for family."

"Gentlemen!" Everyone gasped and looked to the doorway where Charlotte's sister stood holding a proper knife. "Ghosts. Let me introduce myself. I'm Anne Brontë. So sorry I'm late for dinner."


	12. The Tell-Tale Heart

Anne laughed. "Some of you may remember me from novels such as The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - or from killing some of your friends tonight."

"Put up your dukes, woman!" Hemingway said, raising his fists. Charlotte turned on him. "Woah, hey, woah. That's a-"

"You have a gun?" Lenore said.

"Have you had that the whole time?" Oscar asked.

"Of course!" Charlotte smiled.

"Where?" Ernest grinned.

She ignored the question. "It was a present from my lover, Anton Chekov."

"What?" Anne turned. "I've been seeing Anton."

"Me, too!" Oscar gasped. "That bastard!"

"This doesn't add up," Edgar said. "We were with Charlotte when Miss Eliot was being murdered."

"Then... who murdered Agatha Christie?" Ernest asked. "That happened at the same time."

"No," Edgar murmured. "It can't be."

The sisters smirked.

"Oh. It can." A man was at the head of the table - Eduardo Dantes. He stood up and slow clapped his way to where the others were standing. The Brontë sisters joined in and he silenced them. "No. No!"

He clapped one more time. "Congratulations, Mr. Poe. You figured it out."

"You. You murdered Annabel Lee!" Edgar accused.

"You're mad!" Oscar said.

"You fancy me mad? Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded - with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I went to work!"

"Get to the point!" Ernest said in a bored way.

"Ah! Mr. Hemingway. You do so value brevity. Would that your life may end up longer than your fictions. Fine. Earlier this evening, you had the honour of meeting my brother."

"Dostoevsky?" Lenore asked.

"No."

"HG Wells?" Ernest asked.

"No, not... HG Wells. My brother was in ghost form."

They all looked at him.

"He was a ghost," the man repeated.

"Dostoevsky," Oscar said.

"No, good god! ... Guy de Vere. The erstwhile fiancé of this Lenore."

"Edward?" Lenore said. "Guy's brother? You were always away! Guy missed you so much."

"Indeed. I, Eduardo Dantes, am in actuality Edward de Vere the sixth. By the time I had arrived home, Lenore had fallen ill and died. So consumed with grief was my brother that he ended his life. My hatred for Lenore was matched only by my hatred for one other: Krishanti - the psychic who brought Lenore back in ethereal form, but could not do the same for my brother."

"You killed her?" Oscar said.

"Mm. I did. I was quite happy when Mr. Wells pushed for her presence. Oh. Poor Lenore. It looked like you two were getting along quite well."

"Are you just trying to kill people that I care about?" Lenore asked. "Because you are overestimating how much I care about people."

"Oh, no, my dear. I had far greater aspirations for tonight. Perhaps you've heard of my great grandfather, Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford?"

"You mean that Elizabethan hack? Right?" Ernest scoffed.

"Some people believe he had a hand in writing Shakespeare," Edgar said.

"Or that he was Shakespeare!" Oscar said dramatically.

Edward threw a bottle at the wall - it shattered and the sisters jumped back. "Shakespeare was a liar and a thief, just like every writer!"

"We're not thieves! You're delusional," Edgar said.

"Oh. Poe. Edwin. Allan. Poe."

"It's- It's Edgar."

"Earlier, when I was talking about being mad, you wrote that down."

"What? No. No, I didn't."

"You did. You were going to use it later in another tale of woe."

"That's ridiculous."

"This whole plan is ridiculous!" Ernest said. "There are countless other ways you could have exacted revenge for some made-up conspiracy."

"But what better revenge for my ancestor than to gather a group of the world's most famous authors and murder them, just like he should have done to William Shakespeare?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, but why us?" Lenore asked. "We didn't steal your grandpa's dumb plays."

"Oh. I had other reasons. I could eliminate Mary Shelley and take undue credit for Frankenstein, much the way that Stratfordian hack took credit for my ancestor. I could send a message via Hemingway that my debts are paid. I could dismiss Emily Dickinson and her constant braying about noise pollution - Christ, does that woman ever stop talking? And Mr. Wilde. It would not do for rumours of our drunken dalliance to spread."

"You were drunk?" Oscar asked.

"Quite. But I was stone-cold sober when I began courting Annabel Lee, knowing of her connection to Lenore, and the power of persuasion she could have over Mr. Poe. I manipulated her into bringing all these victims here, but I knew I would need help."

"How'd you broads get involved?" Ernest asked, definitely very drunk now. Of course, the alcohol was going to take effect at some point, he'd been drinking all evening. "I haven't pissed in five days."

"It's quite a simple story, really," Charlotte said. "Some time ago, our brother Branwell became involved with a married woman. Somehow that two-bit hussy Jane Austen found out about it."

"We murdered Jane Austen with great pride and extreme prejudice," Anne said. They high fived. "And Eddie promised to not foreclose on the Brontë house and help cover up the murder if we helped execute his plan tonight."

"I'm not particularly keen on killing people," Charlotte added, "but our house has such a lovely wrap-around porch, and also I don't want to go to jail."

"And jail you shall avoid, my dear," Edward said. "After killing Ernest and Oscar here, the three of us will be on our way, and surely, who will believe that Edgar Allan Poe did not commit these sinister crimes himself?"

"No one would believe that," Edgar said proudly.

"Yes. This house is Murdersville, population: you," Oscar said.

"I believed it was Poe the whole time," Ernest said. "Even as the real killer lays out his plan, part of me still does."

Edgar pushed Ernest away.

"It will be especially incriminating when they find all the vials of poison Anne planted in your room," Edward said.

"Sorry, um, I got some blood on those. I cut myself while delivering a syringe of poison to Miss Alcott."

"Ah, yes," Edward nodded. "After arriving late, I faked my own death as Anne turned out the lights. She then waited by the door as Louisa May Alcott, expertly spurred into action by Charlotte, ran out and stuck her with a needle of potassium cyanide. As you all checked on the body, Charlotte left the note on the table, took HG Wells' contraption, and put it on the other side of the kitchen door. Once again, acting on Charlotte's ever-so-subtle orders, Mary Shelley ran to the door. With that hallway accessible to the vault via the elevator, it was I who rigged Wells' invention to the door, electrocuting Miss Shelley, and paving the way for my own literary celebrity. Then, brilliantly, you all made the decision to split up."

Charlotte stepped forwards. "Seeing as I was with Dostoevsky, it seemed none of you would believe I was stupid enough to kill him... but I did."

Lenore laughed. "Oh, sweetie. I always thought you were stupid."

Anne stepped forward. "I awaited Oscar in the bathroom, and then accidentally killed George Eliot. They look the same from behind."

"We have the same trainer," Oscar explained. "We do a lot of squats."

Edward stepped forward again. "I knew Agatha Christie would figure out this flimsy caper immediately, so I met her at the door when she arrived, ten times with a knife."

Charlotte stepped forward again. "Then that damned psychic arrived. I was worried one of those ghosts might give the whole thing up! What a time I had trying to disrupt that nonsense."

"Indeed," Edward said. "When Krishanti summoned my brother, I knew she was starting to get suspicious. She had to go."

Anne stepped forward between them. "I cleaned up his mess by doing away with that Dickinson chatterbox."

"HG Wells was working on something that would have caught us in the act - I ensured he would not finish it," Edward said.

"We hadn't counted on the police showing up," Charlotte added. "I urged you to serve them the wine that I'd poisoned earlier."

"And Annabel," Edward said. "Sweet Annabel. When it dawned on her that I was the one who brought everyone here tonight, when she figured out that it wasn't a number of you had cause to kill me, but I had cause to kill you, she reacted poorly, running out to find me. She felt responsible, that she must put a stop to all this. But I put a stop to that."

Edgar lunged at him and Edward sidestepped at the last second, the gun dropping. "Charlotte!"

"I've never used a gun before!"

Edward ran out into the study, Edgar and Ernest behind him. Ernest pushed Edgar forwards, but he immediately got punched and fell down.

The two men squared up against each other. Ernest moved to strike him but overestimated his own swing, getting thrown off balance.

There was a crack and Ernest was out.

~~

"I was knocked out in the scuffle with that Eddie chap," Ernest said to the officer. He was faintly aware of the pain on his head but was almost too numb to feel it. It didn't feel real. "When I came to, Poe said he had escaped."

"Mr. Poe, your statement?"

"Well, yes. Um... Eddie and the Brontës confessed to murdering everyone. Eddie bashed my dear friend Ernest over the head-"

"I let him!"

"- I tried to stop him from escaping, but he said... 'I'll run away to a different country!' as he ran away... forever, probably. Odd fellow. I am deeply saddened that he murdered my..." Edgar trailed off.

"Friends," Lenore said. "Friends is the word you're looking for."

"That is quite a lot of blood," the policeman said.

"It could be anyone's. Anyone of my many, many, many friends."


	13. Epilogue: After the Party

It had been a week since the party.

Ernest lay in his bed, the cool moonlight streaming through his open window followed by a breeze.

And then there was a figure.

"Mary Ann?" He sat bolt upright.

She smiled sadly. "Hello, Ernest."

"How..."

"Krishanti brought us all back. Kind of. Only sometimes."

"Please... I want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, too. But you'd give so much up."

"I would give up anything," Ernest whispered. She walked across the room to him and gently took his hands.

"Your freedom. Your life. It's not just anything, Ernie, it's everything," she murmured.

"Mae... you're everything."

"You might not come back at all."

"Mary Ann... please."

"Would you do this for me, Ernest? Or are you doing it for you?"

"I'm doing this for us."

"That wasn't the question."

"For..." he paused.

"It's okay, Ernest. You can let me go if you need to."

"No. No! Mary Ann!"

"Ernest."

A whisper of an echo and she was gone.

~~

Ernest was floating in nothing.

Not black or white or any other colour, not warm or cold or room temperature or body temperature.

Just absolutely nothing.

Something, a hand, perhaps, reached out to him after an undeterminable amount of time. He couldn't see it, couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there.

And he was pulled out of the nothingness and into Edgar Allan Poe's study.

Edgar, Annabel, Lenore and HG stood there. They were all ghosts except for Edgar.

"What..."

HG looked pleased. "Ernest!" He turned to Lenore. "It worked!" He whispered excitedly. She patted his arm fondly. "Yes, dear."

Edgar smiled awkwardly. "Hello. You died and are now here in ghost form."

"Hi. What?" From the vast void of nothing in his mind, he remembered: the squeal of rubber on pavement, the sicking crunching crumple of bones and metal.

"Do you remember?" Lenore asked.

"Yeah. Okay. So I'm a ghost." Something ocurred to him. "Wait.. you guys are here. Are the others...?"

"Yep," Annabel smiled. "I'm going to get someone."

Edgar, HG and Lenore followed her out of the room. After a short moment, the door opened and closed again.

Ernest froze. The woman grinned at him.

And then she was in his arms and they were holding each other close. "Mary Ann," he mumbled into her hair.

"Ernest. You came."

"I told you I would," Ernest said thickly through tears. He laughed into her hair. "I told you."

She pulled back the tiniest bit just to look up at him. "I..." She had tears in her eyes, shimmering and silver.

"What's wrong, Mae?" He asked.

"You're here. Nothing's wrong." Mary Ann pulled him down and kissed him and Ernest kissed her back. They broke apart when they were out of breath. Mary Ann looked up into his eyes intensely. "Ernest, I... I love you."

He grinned and gave her another quick kiss. "I love you, too, Mae."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! First of all, thanks to Shipwrecked for making this damn series in the first place, I love it so much.  
> I'm aware most of this is just copied from the series but I did my best to add enough of Ernest and Mary Ann's viewpoints to keep it interesting.  
> Finally, thank you so much for reading this all the way through!


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